Cigarette Burns and Chick Bets
by bassline overdose
Summary: His brothers claimed he wasn't into girls yet, but if that was the case, then what was that game of cigarette chicken with Curly for? ONE-SHOT


**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders._

**A/N: **An obvious inspiration from the book, this one-shot has been on my mind for a while now. I've been thinking that if we all took the time to see the little things mentioned in the novel, we will be able to add more diversity to this fandom, which is currently poisoned by Mary Sue stories and stories written with dreadful grammar. Re-reading one page of the book inspired another idea for a one-shot, so if you're interested in that, please check out the Upcoming One-Shots section of my profile. I hope you all enjoy this story; please read and review!

**Cigarette Burns and Chick Bets**

*******

_Fourth time this week, _I thought, entering my first period English class. Slumping in my seat between a brown-haired girl named Jennifer Chambers and Curly Shepard, I glanced over at Curly. Clad in a clean white wife beater, his worn black leather jacket, a pair of mildly ripped jeans and cowboy boots, he looked more presentable than usual. Then I caught a glimpse of his blonde head, and the thought dissolved.

"You look like ya just rolled outta bed, Curl," I informed him, starting a conversation before the bell blared. Curly looked at me, shrugged, then stared back down at his desk. I racked through my brain, pondering the choices for a conversation beginner. "This is your fourth day in school this week," I said, knowing that he was already aware of that.

Curly sighed and looked at me again. "Curtis, can I tell ya somethin'? You gotta promise not to tell anyone though."

I nodded out of instinct, although I was a bit taken aback. When had Curly Shepard ever told me a secret? It must have been back in the fifth grade. We were older now-it was either you kept something completely to yourself or you let the whole neighborhood know. It may have been a big city, but it was a small world, and word traveled fast in downtown Tulsa.

I saw his Adam's Apple bulge from his neck. "Alright, well … you know the girl in our Math class? She's got brown hair and it looks real soft?"

I knew who he was talking about right when he said Math class. Christine Keelson was the prettiest girl in Mr. Fawn's fifth period Algebra. She was middle-class, lived in a decent sized house on our East side, and she had a real sweet voice. I had liked her for a while now, maybe two months or so, and the only person who knew was Sodapop. I guess you could keep a secret with somebody like Soda. After all, he was my brother.

"Yeah, I know her. What about her?" I questioned, knowing this was not going in the right direction. I could tell by the way he leaned over to my seat, the way his dark eyes were sort of shining, that he liked Christine as much as I did. And like Dallas, Curly Shepard always got he wanted, unless it was Tim's leadership.

Curly glanced around the classroom quickly, assuring himself that nobody was watching us curiously, and turned back to me when he realized the coast was clear. "I've been sort of crushin' on her lately, and I was thinking 'bout askin' her out today after school. Whaddaya think?"

"Uh …" I swallowed my words down, trying to rephrase my next sentence. "She's uh … pretty?"

Curly snickered. "You like her too." It wasn't a question, and I knew I wasn't a good liar, so I decided to cut the crap and be honest with Curly. After telling me something like that, he deserved the truth.

"Yeah," I stated, clear as day. "I like her."

Curly slammed his fist down on the wood desk. "We are talkin' 'bout the same chick, right Pony?" he asked, head in his hands.

"If you're crushin' on Christine Keelson, then yeah, we are."

"Shit," I heard him mutter under his breath. "Well, that's just fuckin' great. Fuckin' fantastic, Ponyboy."

I looked down at my desk, feeling my eyebrows furrow together. "It's not my fault I like her," I mumbled, somewhat insulted.

The bell rang, and as Mr. Johnson stood in front of the classroom, I knew the conversation between Curly and I was officially over. I suddenly regretted ever starting the whole thing.

*******

"Class, please make sure you take a homework sheet from the desk by the door. Remember that we will be having a quiz on Monday on the positioning of apostrophes!" Mr. Johnson yelled over the chatter that consumed the classroom. I gathered my books together and walked to the front of the room, grabbed the worksheet, left the classroom through the open doorway.

I browsed the lockers before finding my own and with my English notebook and textbook tucked under my arm, twisted the three numbers of my combination into the lock. I felt a hand clap my shoulder as I tugged the locker door open, and spun around quickly, my fist clenched in defense. I stepped back when I came face to face with Curly, and turned back around.

"So, I was thinking: if you don't want me to ask Christine out after school, I won't. But I'm not givin' her up without some friendly competition. Savvy?"

I placed the heavy books on the bottom of my locker and grabbed my History textbook from the top shelf. "What're you getting at, Shepard?" I implored, curious as to what this "friendly competition" consisted of.

"How 'bout a man-to-man game of chicken? First one to let go of the burn is the loser, and doesn't get to ask out Christine. Ya dig?"

Slamming my locker shut, I gave Curly an incredulous look. "You're askin' me to burn my finger for a bet to get a girl?"

Curly's lips turned up at the corners into an evil smirk. "That'd be it."

I bit my lip in response, feeling my smile come on. "I'm in," I said.

His smirk transformed into a wide Cheshire cat-like grin. "After school, behind the Dingo."

"See ya then, Shepard."

*******

As fourth period Gym let out, I felt my heart thud in my chest. I'd see Christine in about three minutes, and that was enough to get me to speed walk through the hallways. Truth be told, I was looking forward to this game of chicken with Curly after school. I had no doubts about me winning; I'd been burned badly before. When I was about five, I decided to help my mom out with dinner while she was in the bathroom. I had opened the oven door, stuck my tiny hand right in, and grabbed the bowl with the casserole inside. It had given me a second degree burn, and I had cried like the baby I was, but I don't remember it hurting _that_ bad. I mean, I got through it, so how bad could this cigarette chicken be?

I was out of breath by the time I was in Mr. Fawn's beige classroom. I tried swallowing and breathing slower so Christine wouldn't hear me panting for air, but my breath had caught when I saw her. She was turned around in her desk in the front row, chatting and giggling with a girl whose name I didn't know. Her light brown hair was straight, tied back loose today, and she wore a huge pearl white smile. Christine was pretty tall-I guessed about 5'7", and she was slender, but she did have nice curves that I found myself drooling over in the halls.

I walked slowly by her desk so my presence was known, and didn't make eye contact with her until she spoke to me. Growing up around a charmer like Sodapop, I had learned my fair share of ways to get girls.

"Hi Ponyboy," she said, her voice cheerful and sweet. I lifted my head slowly, pretending this was no big deal, and nodded at her with a half smile.

Behind me, I heard Curly snicker. "There's no jazz before a rumble, so no talkin' with a girl before the fight," he snapped.

I ignored him, but understood what he was saying. I wouldn't try and suck up to Christine before I battled Curly for her, but I did think she deserved better than him. Maybe I wasn't her perfect Romeo, but I was sure as hell better than the blonde-haired hoodlum sitting behind me.

*******

Curly and I walked together to the Dingo, and it was sort of weird, palling around and goofing off before we burned each other bad with cigarette sparks, but I didn't object. I figured I'd stay on Curly's good side-soften him up a bit so he wouldn't be too hard on me.

The sidewalk bent around the Dingo, and we followed the path, eventually coming to the back of the restaurant. The back parking lot was small-only had about three spots-but there was two wood picnic tables, and it was sometimes a weekend hot spot. However, it was a Thursday afternoon, and the place was so quiet you could probably hear a pin drop. I was half expecting one of those balls of dust to roll by like they do in the cartoons.

Curly took a seat on the bench of one of the picnic tables, and I sat on the opposite side. Flipping out his stolen pack of Kools, he lit up a cancer stick and I did the same. We both took deep breaths that quivered with fright and anticipation, but held the cigarettes to each other's knuckles regardless.

I swallowed at the impact of the spark against my skin, but I realized it didn't hurt as much as I expected it to. I was fine for a good fifteen seconds, until the pain started to sink in. I guess it did the same for Curly 'cause I heard him mutter a cuss word under his breath. I bit my lip, tapping my foot restlessly against the weathered autumn grass.

Thirty seconds later and we were both sweating, the fresh perspiration dripping down our foreheads.

"Why the fuck did I ever suggest we do this?" Curly asked, and it was probably the first time I'd ever see him show a sign of weakness.

"I don't know," I admitted, clenching my teeth together tightly. "Why did I agree to it?"

Curly screamed in pain. "I don't know!"

The stench of our burning skin filled the cool air, and Curly's face twisted in pain. I could hear a bunch of laughter and cussing in the distance, and it wasn't until I opened my eyes that I noticed Tim Shepard swaggering up the side of the Dingo, a few of his boys in tow.

"Curly! What the fuck do you think you're doin'?" I heard him yell, and I thanked God for his sudden appearance. "How much of an idiot are you, huh?" Tim pulled our hands away, and the two of us gasped in relief.

Curly stuck his knuckle in his mouth, sucking on it like a pacifier. "Fuckin' hurt," he whimpered.

"No shit it fuckin' hurt!" Tim exclaimed, banging our heads together. "Fucking idiots."

I rubbed the spot on my head that had slammed against Curly's, and glanced at my buddy in horror. "Nobody won," I said in a state of shocking realization.

Curly glared at me. "All that pain for nothin'." He spat on the ground. "Whatever, man."

"What do we do now?" I asked myself more than him. "You just burned a hole in my finger for a girl we didn't even settle over!"

"We can both take her out," he suggested, shaking out his hand now. "Broad won't piece it together. You take her out a few times, I take her out a few times. It's a two-way street."

I sighed, exasperated, and put my head in my hands. Now I really regretted starting that fucking conversation.

*******

"Glory hallelujah, Ponyboy! What in God's name happened to your hand?" Darry examined the burn, careful not to touch it. He put some Vaseline on it, then wrapped it up with a bandage.

I shook my head. "Long story short: never bet on a girl," I murmured.

Darry got off his knees and looked at me, confused. "What?"

"Nothin'," I sighed, knowing he'd scold me if I told him the burn was caused by my stupidity over a girl.

*******

Feeling a sense of déjà vu as I entered Mr. Fawn's classroom the next day, I sat down in my desk. Curly was absent today; he had told me later last night that he was going to give up on Christine for a while until I finished with her.

I began to copy the notes from the blackboard into my notebook when someone poked my shoulder. I glanced up to see Christine, beaming and beautiful as expected. "Hi Ponyboy," she greeted me, the exact way she had yesterday. She spoke again before I could respond. "You wanna go to the Nightly Double tonight with me? I hear they're showin' a new Paul Newman movie."

I had never felt so stupid, betting on a girl that I never realized liked me. But I just nodded and smiled and told her I'd pick her up at six.

In my own words to Darry, long story short: never bet on a girl, 'cause she just might like you back.

*******


End file.
